Page 29 of Hex and the City
The field of item enchantment had expanded to the world of fashion. It had become quite, ah, fashionable to embed magic in all sorts of clothing and accessories. Everyday spectacles, reading glasses, and stylish shades could all be augmented with magic to help the wearer see long distances, identify invisible objects and persons.
A Masque might be interested in a leather belt that could double as magical restraints, moving independently and tying up criminals on its own. Popular with certain other communities as well, of course, for obvious reasons. There were more practical enchantments, too, like self-heating undergarments for the winter, boots that kept feet dry no matter the environment or sweat level.
Someone like Roscoe, who had the biggest brain of anyone I knew, might have what it took to identify these enchantments with a little effort. He raised the scrap of fabric to his face, wrinkled his nose, and took a sniff. Oh. Not what I was expecting at all.
“Stop that,” Johnny said, frowning.
Leon shook his head. “I appreciate your commitment, but you don’t know where that thing has been.”
Roscoe nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That’s why you guys miss out on important clues and come to me for help. Yes, it’s pretty obvious that the garment has some sort of stealth enchantment woven in. A chameleon spell, I imagine. But none of you bothered smelling the fabric, did you?”
I pursed my lips. “Not the first thing I’d have in mind, Ross. No.”
He tapped the side of his nose. “Again: valuable information. The nose knows. There’s a very distinctive fragrance on this thing. Looks like our perpetrator has very particular tastes.” He thrust it in my face. “Here. Smell.”
My reluctance doubled down, expressing itself as a scowl. “Yeah. I don’t think so.”
“Roscoe,” Johnny barked. “Stop making people smell things.”
Leon leaned across the table. “Oh, for the love of — here, give it. Roscoe has a point. It’s something we never thought of.”
He took a sniff, lowered the scrap, and squinted at it, like he wasn’t sure what to say. Johnny rose from the table, grumbling under his breath as he strode toward the counter. He returned with a tiny glass filled with coffee beans.
“There,” Johnny said, sliding the glass over. “Take a whiff of those, then try again.”
Leon lifted the glass close to his nose and inhaled the rich, roasted scent of fresh coffee. Not that I could tell what kind the beans were from looking — okay, arabica, knowing Johnny’s tastes — but this was meant to be the nasal equivalent of a palate cleanser.
I’d heard opinions one way or the other about whether or not the smell of coffee beans actually could reset the sense of smell. It was supposed to be a parallel of how sorbets were served between courses at fancy dinners. Leon set down the beans, brought the scrap of fabric to his face once more, and breathed in.
“Oh,” he said, blinking hard, then opening his eyes wide at the rush of aromas. “Okay, wow.”
Roscoe motioned with his hand, smiling encouragingly. “Go ahead. Describe what you’re smelling.”
“It’s weird, not really what I expected. I mean, I can tell that it’s a fragrance that came out of a bottle, but I don’t know all that much about perfume. I’m getting leather, tobacco, a bit of smoke.” His forehead wrinkled as he took another, shorter sniff. “And flowers, too. I want to say — jasmine, maybe? We had those everywhere in the Philippines.”
Johnny clucked his tongue, shooting his partner a smile. Roscoe smirked as he tugged on his shirt collar, watching me expectantly.
“Diablo 69,” I muttered.
The snort of triumph from Roscoe’s end of the table was at once a bit annoying and kind of adorable, the smug little egghead. So it wasn’t my imagination. I thought I caught a whiff of something when I had the anomalist in a headlock.
“Um, what?” Leon cocked his eyebrow. “Is this some more arcane underground jargon that I hadn’t heard of yet?”
“No,” I said, beckoning for the scrap to confirm my suspicions. “It’s a signature fragrance from Atomica, a local perfumery. Very popular right now.” I lifted it to my face, breathed in the scent. “Yeah. That’s it, exactly. Genderless. Beautiful, I have to admit. Only problem is, how does this help us?”
As if Roscoe could get any smugger. He leaned back in his chair, sighing as he stretched his arms out and folded his hands behind his head, wearing a self-congratulatory smile.
“Drop by the perfumery, charm the living hell out of the sales assistant, get a list of clients, and hey, presto! You’ve got yourself a roster of potential suspects, courtesy of your good friend, Roscoe.”
Leon’s brow furrowed in thought. “But that’s still such a wide net. Even if we did get that list, who knows how many people have bought it? Especially if it’s so popular.”
“No, no, Ross has a point.” I rubbed my chin. “The list might not be that long. They made a limited run of a hundred bottles to start. Also, prohibitive pricing. Every bottle costs five hundred dollars.”
“Five hundred American dollars?” Leon’s jaw could have hit the table. “Who’s paying that much for body spray?”
I winced. “Eau de parfum. And enough people would. Anyone who wanted a luxury signature fragrance, anyway. Nice things are expensive. Go figure.”
“Not all nice things,” Johnny said with a scoff.
